and we all walked out.

Mombasa is a fairly large island, but the built-over part of it is
small, so it was not surprising that we should emerge from the office
face to face with Lady Saffren Waldon. She was the one surprised, not
we. She probably thought she had spiked our guns in that part of the
world forever, and the sight of us coming laughing from the very office
where we should have been made glum must have been disconcerting.

She was riding on one of the little trolley-cars, pushed by two boys in
white official uniform, dressed in her flimsiest best, a lace parasol
across her knee, and beside her an obvious member of the
government--young, and so recently from home as not to have lost his
pink cheeks yet.

Had there not been an awning over the trolley-car she might have used
the parasol to make believe she had not seen us. But the awning
precluded that, and we were not more than two or three yards away.

"Laugh!" whispered Fred.

So we crossed the track laughing and the trolley had to pause to let us
by. We laughed as we raised our helmets to her--laughed both at her
and at the pink and white puppy she had taken in leash. And then the
sort of thing happened that nearly always does when men with a
reasonable faith in their own integrity make up their minds to see
opprobrium through. Fate stepped hard on our arm of the balance.

If built-over Mombasa is a small place, so is Africa. So is the world.
Striding down the hill from the other hotel, the rival one, the Royal,
came a man so well known in so many lands that they talk of naming a
tenth of a continent after him--the mightiest hunter since Nimrod, and
very likely mightier than he; surely more looked-up to and
respected--a little, wiry-looking, freckled, wizened man whose beard
had once been red, who walked with a decided limp and blinked genially
from under the brim of a very neat khaki helmet.

"Why, bless my soul if it isn't Fred Oakes!" he exclaimed, in a
squeaky, worn-out voice that is as well known as his face, and
quickened his pace down-hill.

"Courtney!" said Fred. "There's only one man I'd rather meet!"

The little man laughed. "Oh, you and your Montdidier are still
inseparable, I suppose! How are you, Fred? I'm glad to see you. Who
are your friends?"

At that minute out came the collector from his office--stood on the
step, and stared. Fred introduced us to Courtney, and I experienced
the thrill of shaking hands with the ma